


Follow My Lead

by SisterAmell



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Alistair Theirin - Freeform, F/M, First Time, Loss of Virginity, Love, Nervousness, POV Female Character, Tender Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-17
Updated: 2015-03-17
Packaged: 2018-03-18 08:12:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3562550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SisterAmell/pseuds/SisterAmell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Alistair gives his fellow Grey Warden a token of his love, she is moved to offer herself to him - body and soul. But the inexperienced young Prince is nervous, having never been with a woman before. Reassuring him tenderly, his lady takes him by the hand and guides him into her embrace.</p><p>(Written from the view of the Warden. Her identity and physical appearance are kept intentionally vague so that the reader can imagine her own custom Warden in the part.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Follow My Lead

 

She stares down at the beautiful gift in amazement. Crimson petals soft against her fingertips, fragile stem still warm from Alistair’s clutch.

_What a rare and wonderful thing you are to find amidst all this darkness..._

The amber campfire is sighing and crackling behind her – the lone disturbance of the frozen moment. The sandy-haired Warden is awaiting her response. She can hear his chainmail clinking with his anxious fidgeting. She can see his hands toying with the worn seams of his leather gauntlets. When she raises her eyes finally to his face, she finds an earnest to his gaze that makes her heart ache. Alistair licks his lips nervously.

'I guess it was… uh…' he fumbles, 'just a stupid impulse. I don't know. Was it… the wrong one?'

She releases the soft breath that had been trapped in her chest and slowly shakes her head. Emotions wash over her – so many emotions. At the crest of the wave there is an adoration that has been building for what seems like an age. She is drawn body and soul to this sweet, clumsy Templar, and she knows that there can only be one response. She moves toward him, reaching up to touch his face with one gentle hand while her other dearly clasps the rose. Alistair’s eyes flit to her approaching lips. His own part slightly in anticipation. And she kisses him with all the warmth and want and need that has been filling her veins since that fateful day at Ostagar. She kisses him with the relief that she had felt to find he had not perished with the other Grey Wardens. She kisses him with the thankfulness that he is by her side to face the taint and the uncertain darkness.

When all of those feelings have been passed from her mouth to his, and the heat of his breath upon hers is warmer than the fire’s glow, she releases him.

'Stay with me tonight,' she whispers, and the words send a shiver through her own body.

Alistair’s eyes, lidded with passion, grow suddenly wide.

'Stay…?' he repeats uncertainly. 'You mean…?'

His shoulders have gone rigid. He looks poised to back away. Golden eyes shift from the female Warden’s face to the woodland ground, briefly to her body, then hurriedly away. She realises she is holding her breath. Cursing herself inwardly for proposing such a step and likely spooking the inexperienced Prince, she rushes to think of a way to reassure him.

'I…' she tries. 'I understand if you don't want…'

'No,' he blurts out. The words come rushing, fighting and tumbling over one another. 'No, that's not it – at all! Not that I want to seem over-eager…' He cringes at his own awkwardness. A frustrated sigh escapes his mouth. 'I must sound like a fool… You know that I've never done anything like this… with anyone. I was quite sheltered after all… I care for you so much.' His voice is thick with emotion, his eyes pleading for understanding. 'Whenever I think about this I feel like a… a bumbling idiot… all hands… I wish I could be better at this. I just want it to be right…'

She smiles and dusts his cheek with a tiny kiss. ‘Shh… Just follow my lead, Alistair,’ she breathes, and her slender hand tightens around his fingers.

'Right…' He swallows. 'I'm going to stop talking now.'

Slowly, she draws him with her away from the camp fire. The others are occupied – sleeping or holding watch – and no one notices the two Grey Wardens moving towards the far tent. She can feel the lurch of excitement in the pit of her stomach. Her mind is awash with countless things she wants to do to him. Her desire for him is so intense that she must consciously remind herself not to rush the experience. She wants it to be about him, about his comfort and his pleasure. She wants to give him all that he deserves. This brave and good-hearted man. This selfless champion. This beautiful rose in a tainted world.

She steps through the opening of her tent. Alistair is still holding her hand. She turns to him and eases him through, backing slowly inside. Reassuringly, she maintains her soft smile, keeps his gaze, and he is hypnotised. His wide, boyish eyes are filled with a mingle of fear and excitement. She brings him to stand at the foot of the bedding and places the rose on the tent floor beside them.

Though the night air is mild, Alistair shivers. She releases his hand and slowly slips her arms around his neck, draws him to her body to calm him. They have embraced before, but this is different. She can feel the tension in his shoulders, the uncertainty of his fingers at her waist. She holds him close and touches her lips to his neck. A kiss on his collar. A kiss on his throat. A kiss on the edge of his mouth. A kiss that rends wide his jaw and sends their tongues dancing.

Her hands move to the buckles of his mail. It seems an agonizingly long time before the catches come free. Alistair fumbles to help her remove the garment, and together they let it fall to the ground. They rid themselves of gloves and outer armour. Once they are both free of heavy chains, free to take a lungful of warm air and let their chests fill to the brim, she takes hold of her undershirt. Alistair watches, transfixed, as the thin linen hem rises above her navel, whispers across the rim of her breasts, and finally reveals all. She stands before him, naked to the waist, and smiles at the look in his eyes.

' _Maker…_ ' he breathes.

She steps forward and takes both of his hands. Her fingers turn his palms outwards. His mouth falls open as he realises what she is about to do. Gently, she brings his hands to her heart, molding them, closing them, each over one breast. The heat and sweat from his palms feels like heaven. Her body aches at the sensation as she allows Alistair to cup her swelling breasts. He holds them so softly at first, as if they were made of the most delicate of fabrics. Then, with colour flushing his face and neck, he runs his thumbs along the underside of each mound, and his fingers press into the fleshy surface. She smiles. Her hands release his so that he may explore, and glide down both of his wrists. As she strokes his slender forearms she can feel him touching and caressing. He squeezes gently. The act draws a warm sigh from his lungs.

Sweet Andraste, she can feel the throb of his blood through his fingertips. She can see the lust and wonder in his glimmering eyes. She runs her fingernails hungrily down his naked torso and causes him to shudder in delight. He meets her gaze. His thumbs circle her taut, hard nipples. He tries another squeeze and she laughs softly. A nervous smile breaks his frozen expression.

She wills him to know that it is all right, that he need not be afraid. It is she. With her he shall never have reason for worry or self-doubt. He is safe. He is loved.

She brings her hands down his chest, thumbing the rigid muscles as she goes. The soft hair of his skin is rising at her touch like blossoms opening to the warmth of the sun. She lingers on his supple abdomen for a moment, wilting with need. Then she grasps the buckle of his belt. Calmly, still offering him encouraging glances and smiles, she undoes the belt, slots her fingers into the waistbands of both the trousers and the smalls beneath, and begins to slide them down. Alistair must reluctantly release her breasts as she dips to bring his feet out of his clothing. For a second she is eye-level with his exposed manhood, and her concentration scatters. He is already so hard. So thick. She inhales a steadying breath. Forcing herself to move away, she slips her belt out from around her hips and begins to remove her own lower garments. She wishes to free them both of every barrier, so that they may feel one another, skin to skin.

And, _yes_ , skin meets skin. She coils herself around Alistair’s body, tilting her hips into his, pulling his torso against her with her arms tight around his lower back. For now she does not take him inside her; she keeps him just at her entrance, where there is no pressure, no need for movement, no expectations. For now she simply offers him the sensation of her naked form, and loses herself in his. She brushes her nipples against him. She buries her face in his neck. His heart is pounding. His breaths are haggard and almost pained. Deep sighs. Tiny whimpers. She kisses his clammy neck with long, moist kisses. He nuzzles her longingly.

Minutes pass. The two shadows intertwined have barely moved. There has only been the faint heaving of flesh, the whisper of kisses, the rhythm of breaths. They are engulfed in the joy of merely touching, learning the feel of each other’s body, forgetting how it ever felt to be apart. If not for the agonising fire deep inside them both, they could have remained this way forever. When they finally move, it is Alistair who initiates it. She can feel his uncharacteristic decisiveness. He is ready.

The young Prince runs his hands down her hips, slips them beneath her buttocks, and takes firm hold of her thighs. He lifts her, and she feels her body flare. When he brings her down to the bedding he has drawn her legs around his hips and she has locked them tight. He lowers her gently, the strength of his arms keeping her from falling too fast. Her back touches soft fabric and hard ground. Her head sinks back. Alistair drinks in the sight of her; she can see his fascination as he appraises her submissive form. Bare, open, vulnerable. His. He is smiling now – truly – and the fear has all but melted away. She clings to his shoulders, gazing up with a dizzying anticipation. She can feel the swollen tip of his manhood now pressing at the lips of her sex. She cannot tell whether the throbbing is his or her own, but it is wonderful. Alistair lowers himself down, aching to possess her, and she manoeuvres her pelvis to allow him entry.

Hot fingertips test her sensitive folds. He strokes at her wetness in awe, venturing into the trove of unimaginable delights that stir beyond her flesh. Oh, how easily he rends the gasp from her lips! His thumb presses on her most sensitive spot. Alistair releases a sharp breath at the response he earns from her body, as if he can barely endure. She curls her hips, pushing a little harder into his touch, and her inner thighs throb deeply. She longs to be filled by him. A soft whimper of his name tells him of her need. Licking his lips, the Prince finds her slick, quivering opening with his fingers and brings his manhood to the entrance.

His thrust is smooth but careful, and she feels her walls clenching all around him, as if her body seeks to take him captive for eternity. Alistair utters an oath beneath his breath, his teeth gritted from the almost overwhelming sensations being introduced to him. His hips seem to shake for a moment, before sinking into hers with desperate greed that causes him to moan. She feels him plunge deep. Her head falls back as a cry escapes her lips. Alistair’s brow knits together – a flicker of concern. She touches his face tenderly to show him that she is not hurt. Relieved, the Prince kisses the palm of her hand. His hips drag back and – _yes_ – again he drives into her. Her back arches. Her eyes flutter. Beneath her lashes she can see her Grey Warden’s face. There is an intensity in it, focus – but there is also a beautiful glow of adoration. He is watching her every reaction, alternating his pace and force according to her sounds of pleasure. He hunts the deepest sighs, the sweetest moans. And, by the Maker, how he seizes them. His name bursts from her throat.

Alistair groans, near overwhelmed by the sound of the woman’s cry. She feels him falter, as though he is seconds from his finish. But he steels himself and regains his momentum, the muscles in his abdomen clenching with the strain. He dips low to kiss her neck. His hips grind upon hers. Her legs tremble as all of her muscles grow suddenly weak, and a deep heat bathes her body. So close. So close…

Such a delicious ache! She grips Alistair’s heaving shoulders roughly. Again she calls his name, and again he moans in reply. Again he thrusts. Again he rolls. And she drags him down hard against her breast, pinning him with desperate arms and a shuddering cry. She ignites from the inside out. Pleasure tears at her and she feels her senses melt into white. For a few incredible seconds they are one – a single creation in perfect symbiosis – and she does not know the feel of her own flesh from his. Somehow she knows that she is moaning, but her ears are roaring with silence. Her back aches sharply, and she feels her body turn rigid. One. Two. Three. Convulsions of fire and ice. Four. Five. She cannot bear it. And then Alistair lets himself go, and amidst her tornado of sensations she is suddenly filled with a new heat. He judders upon her body. His juices run through her like new blood through her veins. He falls upon her with a gasp.

The night turns still. There is only the panting of the spent lovers – no movement but the rise and fall of their shoulders. The female Warden drops her arms and sinks deeply into the bedding. Alistair’s skin is sticking to hers, and his perspiration is running down between her breasts. He shifts; his soaked manhood slips out. Creamy fluid gushes out between her thighs. He stares at it in breathless amazement.

She feels utterly broken in the most incredible way. Somehow all of her muscles have lost their strength and her legs are useless. She can barely keep her eyes open. With her final waking glance she sees Alistair, tousled and wet, lie himself down beside her, and his arms slide around her waist. Sleep is taking her. The world begins to fade. She may have imagined it, but it felt like he kissed her shoulder. It felt like he was curling into her, drawing her back against his chest. It felt like he whispered in her ear. It sounded like: _“I love you...”_

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> (An early draft of this piece has been shared online previously on my former tumblr blog. It is, however, entirely my own work.)


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